


Hello Goodbye

by LananiA3O



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alfred finds out how much of an ass Bruce has been, Gen, Mentions of past abuse, Sad Birthday, he's not happy, mentions of past trauma, no happy ending - sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: Alfred used to celebrate his birthday by dining in one of his favorite restaurants every year, but stopped after Jason's death turned August 16th into a day of mourning. When he receives an invitation to that very same restaurant on his and Jason's birthday, following what seemed to have been another terrible fall-out between Bruce and Jason, he knows not everything is going to be well...





	Hello Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> So I just found out that Alfred's birthday is apparently the same as Jason's, August 16th. Cue the sad headcanons. Add some salt from RHATO (2016) #25 and here we are. Enjoy.  
> Google search for the day: north atlantic fish.
> 
> For status updates, writing trivia, fandom/fanfiction/writing related questions and occasional random ramblings, please visit my tumblr: http://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/

There were some lies that were worth telling.

Alfred Pennyworth firmly believed so. Sometimes, they were about big and important things and could literally mean life or death, such as every time he had to tell reporters that he had no idea where Master Bruce had gotten his latest set of broken ribs. Sometimes they were small lies, told to keep the peace both inside his own heart and inside the family.

Alfred’s birthday was one of those.

It had started back when Master Bruce had been six years old and had finally gained enough social and temporal awareness to understand that Alfred had not had a single birthday party during his entire time in the manor. It had been September when Master Bruce had asked him, dressed in a ramshackle, stereotypical outfit pilfered from Mister Wayne’s wardrobe for a game of Sherlock Holmes with Tommy Elliot. Alfred had decided to play along and had told him that, if he really wanted to know, he’d have to solve the mystery himself.

Oh, he had tried, but Mister and Missus Wayne had played along with Alfred’s innocent little game, and so Master Bruce remained in the dark for two years.

Then, tragedy had struck, and for a long time, there had been no celebrations in the manor, of any kind. Christmas and Thanksgiving had been dismal affairs with all the pleasantry of pulling teeth and so Alfred had decided not to add even more celebrations into the mix.

The next person to ask him had been Master Richard. They had been having dinner with Master Bruce and Master Richard had been talking about a birthday party he had been invited to, when the topic finally came up again. This time, of course, Alfred’s coyness had been futile. Master Bruce laughed at the fact that he hadn’t solved that case in twenty years, then went straight into Alfred’s employment records to pull the date out of his social services file.

That August had been the first time Alfred had celebrated his birthday in a long time. Master Richard had bought him a World’s Best Grandpa mug. Master Bruce had bought him a special breed of rose from the north of Mexico that Alfred had been planning to incorporate into his little garden, and he had given him the entire day off. Alfred had used that opportunity to visit his favorite restaurant in the city, The Shining Mackerel, which happened to be one of the best fish specialty restaurants in the state and the only place in Gotham that served decent fish and chips, a little taste of home.

The next year, Alfred had visited The Shining Mackerel again, and the year after that. Before long, it became a new, little tradition.

Then Master Richard had left and Master Jason had arrived. They had both been rather baffled to realize that their birthdays were happening on the same day and for three years Alfred had company at the river-facing table at The Shining Mackerel.

Then, tragedy had struck again. Alfred had returned to The Shining Mackerel, but where he had once not been bothered by occupying a table for two all by himself, where once the solitude had been serene and pleasant, it now hung like a shroud over his head. For the first time in his life, Alfred had left a restaurant halfway through his lunch, leaving the plate unfinished. He had cried throughout the entire car ride back to the manor.

The next year, Master Bruce had once again given him the day off. This time, Alfred had spent it deep-cleaning the house. It was ungrateful work, but it was work. It kept his mind busy, far away form the child who was no longer there, the child that would never go to the Shining Mackerel with him again. The child who would never get through the entire menu of North Atlantic fish, as he had planned. The child who had shared his birthday and should have outlived Alfred by at least half a century.

Sometimes, the world was a cruel and unforgiving place.

With Master Timothy, the question had not come up for a long while, but when it finally had, Alfred had been surprised to hear the words ‘September 16th’ fly from his own lips so quickly. Master Tim had taken his statement at face value and had promptly gotten him a fresh pair of shears for his garden on September, 16th. Master Bruce had not even asked about the lie and for that, Alfred had been grateful. Still, August 16th remained Alfred’s day off.

And now... Alfred sighed as he picked the mail out off the box and returned to the manor with heavy steps. Now it was August 16th again. Master Bruce had given him the day off again, before retreating to his room to recover from whatever ordeal he had put himself through the night before. It was all painfully familiar. The way Master Bruce got careless at work... the way he shut himself away from the rest of the world... the way his mood turned sour... the way he eyed the pictures of Jason that were hung up around the manor.

Ever since Master Jason had almost murdered The Penguin, who had survived through nothing but sheer dumb luck, it was once again as if Master Jason was dead. In a way, Alfred’s nagging suspicion that he wasn’t only made it worse. It begged the question of what had transpired between Master Bruce and Master Jason to cause such a rift.

In any case, Alfred Pennyworth did not intend to change his plans. For now, he would sort out the mail. Then he would take a nap—six hours, maybe five... every year that passed seemed to reduce the amount of sleep his body was willing to grant—and then he would deep-clean the manor. As always on August 16th.

The first envelope was an advertisement. Alfred rolled his eyes. There was a very clearly written, waterproof “No Ads Please” sign on the mailbox and yet these kept on cropping up. The second was a bill, the third a business letter from LexCorp, then another bill. Alfred sorted them dutifully, piece by piece until he reached the bottom of the pile. Alfred paused.

The last letter was addressed to him. That was odd enough and it set off little alarms in his head. He did get the occasional letter now and then, but they usually came in baronial style envelopes with the addressee and sender hand-written in ink by the few pen friends he had, not in white, windowed monstrosities with all the personality of a wet towel, no sender, and the addressee typed in simple black. Something was off. Alfred opened it carefully and all but fell into the chair to his left.

Beneath the clinically impersonal address and equally boring “13:00”, a shining mackerel filled out the rest of the page.

***

It had been drizzling when he had left the manor and it was pouring when he arrived at the pier on the Upper East Side. In between the overcast, gray sky, the stormy, gray water of the river, and the dirty, gray stone of the building, the mackerel over the door shone in all its glory, vibrant and practically jumping off the sign. Alfred took a deep breath as he headed inside.

It was lunchtime on a Wednesday and so Alfred had not expected much, yet he was still surprised by how quiet the restaurant was. At first glance into the main room, he could see all of three occupied tables in the main dining room and it took a little less than ten seconds for a waitress called Jenny to arrive and greet him with a warm smile.

“Good afternoon, sir.  Do you have a reservation?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Alfred replied with a quick nod to the almost empty ledger by the door, “but I am meeting with a young man who might have reserved under the name Pennyworth or Todd.”

“He did actually. Please follow me.”

Alfred thanked her quickly, then took another look at the ledger. There were only two names in it. One of them was definitely his. No wonder she hadn’t even had to look.

The staircase to the upper floor still creaked the same way it had always had when he had come here regularly. The banister still had chips and cracks in it, but at least the paint had been redone. Now, the ceilings were a pale blue and the walls a pale, sandy yellow, no doubt in an attempt to evoke a feeling of the English coastline. Despite the welcoming look, the upper floor was entirely empty.

“That’s odd,” the waitress murmured as they approached the only table for two by the windows facing the river. There was a closed menu, two full glasses of water, and a fresh, steaming cup of black coffee on one side, but the seat was empty. “He was here just five minutes ago.”

“Not to worry, my dear.” Alfred put on the brightest smile he could muster. “He probably just went to the men’s room. I will wait for him here.”

Jenny apparently did not mind. Alfred shrugged out of his coat, sat down, took the menu she handed him, and asked for a cup of Earl Grey. The moment she was gone, he put down the folder and surveyed his surroundings.

The table offered a clear view of the stairs and Jason had chosen the seat that would also give him a good view of the hall that led to the bathrooms. Through the window, Alfred could see the docks and the ships travelling up and down the river. Only four blocks to the North, one of Gotham’s bridges lead straight to the mainland, to a nearby highway. It was an easy escape route. Just in case.

“Alfred?”

He got up quickly, but the smile on his face died the moment he had turned around. Underneath the red hoodie, Master Jason’s right eye was slightly swollen and the bruise around it had started to turn a pale shade of brown. On the same side, his lip had been split and the cut still stuck out in dark red. On his left wrist, Alfred could see the edge of a bandage peek through from underneath the end of the sleeve and there was a slight jerk to his steps that indicated damage to the left leg.

Worst of all, all his injuries seemed to be a week old. It fit the timeline. Alfred swallowed hard. “Master Jason, what’s happened—”

“Let’s not, ok?” Suddenly, there was a pair of strong arms around Alfred’s torso. Master Jason’s words were muffled by the shoulder his face had been buried against and there was the faintest hint of a tremble in hands. “Let’s not talk about that, please. I’m glad you came.”

“Well...” Alfred took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as he could manage with two-hundred pounds of sheer muscle clinging to him for dear life. “Far be it from me to turn down August 16th lunch at The Shining Mackerel.”

That made Master Jason chuckle and Alfred forced the smile back onto his face as he watched him let go and sit down, wincing just a little at the strain the motion put on his ribs. Alfred swallowed the bitterness that came up his throat and forced his mouth shut. He had so many questions. Had this been Master Bruce’s doing? What exactly had happened? How bad was the damage? Who had treated it? What painkillers was Master Jason taking and did he need more? Did he get enough sleep? Somehow Alfred doubted it. Sleep had never been Master Jason’s strong suit. There was too much trauma there, too much fear, spawned by a childhood lived in perpetual strife and terror.

Thankfully, Jenny arrived with his Earl Grey, just in time to keep him from giving in to the temptation of asking at least one of those.

“Hello again. Are you ready to order or shall I come back later?”

Master Jason frowned. “Alfred, do you remember the last time we came here? I had the haddock, right?”

“I believe so.” It had been a long time. Alfred tried to remember, but honestly the thing he recalled least about those lunches was the food. “I do remember it came with red beets and cauliflower.”

Master Jason had had a devil of a time with the beets, chewing them until his tongue, his gums and even his teeth were a ridiculous shade of reddish-purple. It hadn’t lasted long, thanks to the desert.

“That would definitely have been the haddock then,” Jenny offered and Master Jason frowned.

“Baked butterfish it is then. And some fresh orange juice, please.”

“I’ll have the classic fish and chips,” Alfred said quietly. “And the Pinot Noir. Two glasses please.”

“One,” Master Jason corrected quickly and Alfred raised an eyebrow at the immediacy of the response. As a teenager, Jason had always been thrilled to be allowed even just one sip from Alfred’s wine while no-one else in the restaurant was looking. “Just one glass, please.”

Alfred waited until the waitress had disappeared again, before allowing himself a quick grin. “I’m surprised, Master Todd. I distinctly remember a certain young boy who always begged me to have some of my red wine.”

“Alfred...” Master Jason took a deep breath. “If I could, I’d order every single wine on the menu and drink till I drop, but I paid enough attention to your med bay lessons to know that paracetamol and alcohol don’t mix well.”

Well, that was one question answered. Alfred winced. So there _were_ pain blockers involved, which meant it must have been really, really bad. Master Jason hated medication of any kind.

“So...” Master Jason sighed. He was no longer wringing his hands like he used to do whenever was insecure, but Alfred could hear the hesitation swing underneath his voice. “How have you been, Alfred? I heard Tim moved out a while back and Cass is staying at Leslie’s clinic. Gotta be strange to have the house half empty again.”

Alfred sighed and took a sip from his Earl Grey. “To be perfectly honest, Master Jason, I hardly notice the difference. Miss Cassandra is a rather solitary creature and though I tried my best to make her feel at home, I think she was too wrapped up in her grief too notice.”

That much was true. Cassandra Cain had been like a shadow in the manor, clinging to the walls as she hushed down the hall to get from point A to point B whenever something or another required that she leave the sanctuary of her own room. A room she had never bothered to customize to her own liking. Every time Alfred had gone there, it had looked exactly as the day he had prepared it for her arrival. In addition, he could count the words she had ever spoken to him on his hands and toes. Of course, part of that was a result of the abuse she had suffered as a child, but Alfred knew suffering when he saw it and Miss Cassandra had clearly been in the kind of pain that no kind word could fix.

“I’m afraid all I was able to do for her was to make sure she was properly fed and clothed.”

“You make that sound like that’s somehow unimportant,” Master Jason said after he had downed the first half of his coffee. “Nothing kills self-care instincts quicker than trauma. If you hadn’t looked after her, she might have come out of it with a dozen health issues that she has neither the money nor the motivation to fix.”

 _We’re not talking about Miss Cassandra anymore, are we?_ Alfred bit back the question just before it slipped off his lips. For all the injuries Alfred could count, it didn’t look like Master Jason had lost much weight or sleep since Alfred had last seen him, so either he was doing better than suspected or he had someone else looking after him.

“As for Master Timothy,” Alfred finally continued, “I sometimes wonder why I bothered to prepare a room for him at all. He spent his time almost exclusively in the cave or the Belfry. I found him passed out in front of the computer almost once a week. That poor boy is going to work himself into an early grave.”

“Want me to knock some sense into him, next time I see him?”

Alfred contemplated the offer for a moment. It wasn’t really an offer, even if it was phrased as one. In a way, it was more like Master Jason was asking permission. Alfred sighed.

“I wish I could advocate for a less physical approach, but I’m afraid the time for that has passed in this family, hasn’t it?”

It was quite possibly the saddest statement he had made in a while. Alfred stirred his tea and took a deep breath. There was no way around this. He had to ask the question at least once. He knew what the answer would be. He also knew that he was likely to never find out the full truth. Still, he felt the need to set a good example. At least someone in this blasted family had to.

“Master Jason...” He pointed at his own right eye. “It was Master Bruce who did that to you, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Of course not,” Alfred conceded. Nobody ever wanted to talk about the terrible things that happened to them. “But the last time I’d seen Master Bruce as grim and volatile as he has been over the last week was after... after Ethiopia. I’m merely trying to understand—”

“Ethiopia the first, or Ethiopia the second?” Master Jason snapped back at him and there was a chill, a jab of pain and anger, underneath his words that made the hairs on Alfred’s arms stand up and his blood run cold.

“The second?”

Master Jason laughed. Alfred cringed. It was a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound that held zero joy and warmth. It was cold and biting and it vanished as quickly as it had come. “Of course he didn’t tell you... Of course, he—”

Master Jason buried his face in his hands, but Alfred could have sworn he still heard a sob break through the muffling barrier of his fingers. It cleaved his heart in two, to hear such a young and helpless sound from someone who was usually so in control of himself, so mature for his age. Alfred reached over slowly and placed one hand on the boy’s arm.

“Master Jason...”

“He’s kicked the crap out of me and then he kicked me out of Gotham.” The words were clear and bitter. Alfred watched as he ran his hands over his face, downed the rest of the coffee, and took a deep breath. “If Bruce knew I was here with you, I’d already be on my way to jail.”

“I doubt—”

“You shouldn’t.” Alfred flinched. It wasn’t like Master Jason to interrupt someone so rudely. “Alfred... I will say this once, and only _once_ , because I love you and I trust you more than I have ever trusted anyone else in this family, and then I want you to drop this topic, okay? After Damian died, Bruce took me to Ethiopia to trigger the memories of my death. When I pointed out how fucked up that was, he didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. He has never apologized for that and I still have nightmares about it, about him dragging me back into the dark because that’s the most convenient choice for him. Last week, he beat the crap out of me. He kicked me harder than he ever kicked Joker. Let that sink in for a moment. Then Artemis and Bizarro... my friends... died... They died to save thousands, Alfred, and I was barely back on the ground for ten seconds and he kicked me while I was down. I didn’t even fight back. He told me in very uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome here. He ripped the bat off my chest and god knows what else he would have taken from me, had Roy not come and saved my sorry ass.”

The glass of water was next. Master Jason downed it in one go while Alfred’s mind labored to process the horrifying details he had just learned about. Part of him insisted that it couldn’t be true. The rest of him knew that it was.

“I know I fucked up, Alfred. I’ve done a lot of things that I regret. But I tried so hard to play by his rules, to be forgiving, to be kind... I used to respect him, Alfred. After Ethiopia... I told myself that that was just his grief talking, but you know what? Even if it was... nothing, absolutely NOTHING in the world excuses treating anyone the way he has been treating me, much less your own family. Last week, I didn’t see ‘Bruce mad with grief’. I saw Bruce as he really is. I saw what he really thinks of me and I am done telling myself that I can somehow fix this if I can only do X and be like Y and follow Z. He has made it very clear that he has no intention of ever having the kind of relationship with me that I was hoping to have with him and I’ve spent enough time chasing a pipe dream.”

Suddenly, there was movement to the far left. Master Jason turned instantly, watching the oblivious waitress as she placed the plates and glasses in front of them and poured Alfred#s wine. She wished them bon appétit and disappeared down the hall and down the stairs again, leaving them behind with nothing but two plates of fish and a hundred terrible words between them.

“I am done with this shit, Alfred.” This time, Master Jason made sure to look him straight in the eyes and Alfred shuddered. It had been a long time since he had seen such resignation and determination in Master Jason’s face at the same time. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. I don’t want to hear anything about Bruce, period. The time for fixing things is over. I don’t ever want to have to deal with him or even talk about him again. Whatever you make of what I just told you is between you and him. Just leave me out of it.”

“Then why did you arrange to meet with me, Master Jason?”

He did want to argue. He wanted to point out how Miss Kyle leaving Master Bruce at the altar had wrecked him. How seeing Master Jason shoot someone in cold blood, on TV no less, had wrecked him. How this was going to pass. How he shouldn’t give up so easily.

But he hadn’t and the realization hit Alfred like a thunderbolt. Master Jason hadn’t given up easily. He had tried, so hard, for so long, to be a part of the family again, and if what he had said about Ethiopia was true, if what Master Tim had reported of their encounter with Saint Dumas was true, than he had gone through hell and back again to salvage a bundle of relationships that had crashed and burned spectacularly.

Alfred could see how Master Jason had reached the end of his patience. He could see how he had reached the point of no return. And as much as it pained Alfred in his soul to admit it, he knew that Master Jason’s words were not the tantrums of a hurt child. They were a final, painful measure of self-preservation.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Master Jason sounded surprised. Almost hurt. “I wanted to see you, Alfred. I wanted to celebrate your birthday.” At last, Master Jason reached for the cutlery and started cutting into the baked butterfish. It looked good and smelled delicious. “You’re not an extension of Bruce, Alfred. Believe it or not, I have enough sound judgment and perspective to hate him without hating you. _You_ have never done anything to me. You’re the kindest, warmest, most amazing person I have ever known, and if I’m gonna have to leave Gotham, at least I want to see you and talk to you. One last time.”

 _One last time_. Alfred swallowed hard. They were terrifyingly final words and the sheer casual demeanor with which Master Jason had said them made him wonder how long he had been planning this, how many times he had practiced them in front of the mirror. Alfred reached for his knife and fork and started cutting the cod.

“In that case... what _do_ you wish to talk about?”

“Anything?” Master Jason took a bite of his butterfish and roasted potatoes and the look that flashed on his face was one of endearing surprise. “Damn, this fish is good!” He took another bite. “I wanna hear about you, Alfred. Okay, we know things have been going to hell, but how have you been doing? How’s your rose garden? Are you still working on the Pennyworth Blue or are you breeding a new color? How has the brat’s menagerie been treating you? How’s the fish and chips?”

Alfred chuckled and took a bite. “The fish is excellent, as always.”

It really was. He had forgotten how much he missed The Shining Mackerel and its food. He had forgotten how much he missed sitting here, with Master Jason, on their joint birthday, enjoying good food and lighthearted laughter and conversations about anything but work.

In a way, by offering him all that again, Master Jason had given him the kindest gift in the world. And the cruelest.

He started with the question about the pets, because that was the easiest. Master Damian was very involved in their care and training and the animals had seemed to mellow out with him. Alfred the cat had remained his favorite, for strictly sentimental reasons, but the others had grown on him as well. All he dreaded now was the inevitable arrival of the time when one of them would pass on. He had a feeling Master Damian would not take it half as well as he was likely to pretend. Master Jason agreed.

Next up were the roses. He had spent many years experimenting with new breeds and new colors. The Pennyworth Blue had sold well and had been critically acclaimed among his fellow rose-breeding enthusiasts. One of them had recently sent him a creation of her own, the Spun Glass Pink, which was a very intense shade of bubblegum pink with extremely thin, white streaks. Alfred had decided to breed it with a specific peach-colored specimen he had been raising for five years now, hoping to achieve a somewhat less intense, more salmon-like tone of pink that retained the white stripes. He was hoping to get the first results by next summer.

Master Jason, as always, was a good listener throughout it all, nodding enthusiastically in between his own bites, and asking polite, well-thought-out questions whenever the opportunity arose. It wasn’t until they had both finished their meals that the dread and sorrow that had gripped him before slowly returned to Alfred.

Thankfully, another thing to return was their waitress with the menus. Alfred watched on silently, finishing the last few drops of his Pinot as Master Jason studied the dessert page.

“Oh man, they no longer have the chocolate cream puffs...”

“Scandalous,” Alfred agreed. “May I suggest the Manchester Tarts instead? They are very sweet as well and definitely one of the most traditionally British dishes on this menu.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Master Jason discarded his menu and turned his head towards the river. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled and the wind was picking up in force. And yet here they were, in a tiny bubble of warmth and comfort in the middle of a storm.

The waitress returned and collected their menus. Alfred gave her their final order, then finished the rest of his tea. It had gone cold by now. “Master Jason, please tell me you will not be completely on your own, once you leave this restaurant.” he couldn’t bear that thought. Nobody should be alone, least of all Master Jason, who had been through so much, time and time again.

“I’m not.” Master Jason seemed honestly surprised, though whether at the question or the answer, Alfred did not dare to ask. “Roy’s been looking after me for the last few days. Kori is going to come by tomorrow. I already told them I don’t want to drag them into this, but they insisted.”

“I’m glad they did.”

Whatever Master Jason had been wanting to say became irrelevant when the dessert arrived together with the bill. Master Jason paid in cash, another self-preservation move, Alfred knew. Electronic payments were too easily traceable. The tip was generous, as always. Master Jason had never missed an opportunity to point out how utterly messed up the entire employment situation in the food industry was and had all but yelled at Master Bruce the first time he had tipped only the standard fifteen percent. ‘Cheapskate’ had never been so scathing an insult before.

The Manchester Tarts were delicious, but they were gone too soon. Alfred felt his stomach curl into a knot as Master Jason set down his spoon and dabbed a stray whiff of cream off of his lip with the napkin. Jenny arrived soon enough and cleared the table. Pleasantries were exchanged. When it was all done, Master Jason took a deep breath.

“I guess this is goodbye then.”

It was. Alfred knew that it was, that it had to be, and he hated it. He hated it the way he had never hated another word before. It was wrong and gross and unfair and he wished he was of an age when temper tantrums were still considered acceptable, because he very much felt like throwing one.

Master Jason got up first. He headed for the coat rack and slipped into the gray leather jacket hanging from one of the lower knobs, then helped Alfred into his coat. It felt surreal. He wanted to stop. He wanted to take off the coat. He wanted to point out how they had only just started to be like a family again. How much it had meant to him to have Master Jason back in the fold, back at the manor, back in their lives.

And he knew it would break the boy’s heart if he’d say it. He knew it would be cruel and selfish. The wound was only just closing. He had no right to tear it open. At least not here, not now. Not with Master Jason.

“My dear boy...” He went for a hug instead and Master Jason’s flinch told Alfred that he had not expected it at all. “I want you to know one thing: no matter what happened between you and Master Bruce, you will _always_ be welcome at my table. Always. You do have my number and my address. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” Master Jason said glumly as he withdrew from the embrace. Alfred sighed.

“I know. But I want you to know that the option is there. An option, not an obligation. You don’t have to stay in touch, if you do not want to, but I would be very happy if you did.”

Master Jason nodded, then headed down the stairs. The waitress said one last goodbye to them as they headed out the door and into the rain and wind, into the harsh, pelting reality that slapped him in the face with cold finality. This was it. This was where their ways were going to part. Again.

“Take care of yourself, Alfred.” Master Jason drew him in for another hug, short, but tight, and Alfred could tell that this wasn’t any easier for him than it was for Alfred. “I wish nothing but the best for you.”

“A mutual feeling,” Alfred assured him. “And thank you for the lunch. I missed it.”

Master Jason smiled and squeezed his hand gently, then headed off into the rain. For a few seconds, Alfred could track the red hood through the slush of gray, before it disappeared in an alley. With a heavy heart, Alfred returned to the car and got in. He dreaded the idea of going back to the manor. He dreaded the idea of facing Master Bruce, who would no doubt have woken up from his sleep by now and noticed Alfred’s absence. He dreaded the inevitable question of where he had been.

Alfred was tempted to serve him half a lie. To tell him he had gone to have lunch, without telling him where and with whom. Some lies were worth telling.

And so were some truths. Alfred took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition.

This time, he was not going to dive into housework. This time, he was going to dive into Master Bruce’s cowl footage from one week ago.

And then, he and Master Bruce were going to have a long conversation about Ethiopia and about last week.


End file.
